


Ineffable One Shots

by mirvly



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Silly, they're living together and everything is new and strange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-06-25 11:22:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19744714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirvly/pseuds/mirvly
Summary: A series of one shots surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley living together in the flat above the bookshop not long after the failed apocalypse.





	1. snakes don't chew on books

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley brings a new friend into the flat without telling Aziraphale. It's all going fine, until Aziraphale starts noticing things are amiss in the shop.

The bookshop smelled… _musty._

Aziraphale took great care to keep the shop in tip-top shape. It wasn’t hard, when one could clean as easily as waving a hand. Every few days, Aziraphale would wave a hand and the place would clean up; dust would disappear, stacks of books would straighten, and dirt tracked in by customers would sweep itself out the door. This usually worked spotlessly.

For the last few days, however, he’d noticed a new kind of smell around the shop that he couldn’t place. He couldn’t miracle away the smell, not when he didn’t know what was causing it. On top of that, an unusual amount of dirt was being tracked through the shop lately. 

He could have chalked all of these changes up to being a byproduct of Crowley moving into the flat above the shop with him, but it had been several months since he moved in, and he’d been fairly tidy. Surprisingly tidy, actually. They lived quite harmoniously together. On some days, Crowley even assisted with scaring off customers, and he did it far better than Aziraphale did. Quite handy, having a demon around.

“What _is_ that smell?” said Aziraphale, wrinkling his nose as he got a whiff of it again by his stack of various first edition fairy tale books. 

Crowley was lounging by the opposite wall, sunglasses on, sifting through the paper. He liked reading the comic strips, and was known to solve the occasional word search or crossword. Being on Earth for as long as he had lent him to solving crosswords fairly easily. He had his feet propped up on a table, which annoyed Aziraphale to no end, but nobody was perfect. 

“I don’t smell anything,” he said quickly, not looking up. 

The bell at the door jingled as an elderly man walked in. Crowley set his feet down loudly. “Hey, can’t you read? We’re closed!” he snapped. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed as the man left. He saw that the OPEN sign on the door had been miraculously flipped to CLOSED. “A moment ago we were open! You can’t scare away everyone, or we’ll get a reputation.”

“It’s easier to prevent them from buying anything if they don’t get a chance to look around,” said Crowley, shrugging, and kicking his feet up again.

Shaking his head, Aziraphale turned to tidy up his prophecy books. He’d been going through them again recently. They were much more amusing now that he knew what the events of the apocalypse had really been.

He spotted an open book on the floor and frowned. It was just lying open on the ground, the pages torn around the edges. Aziraphale bent down and picked it up. “Crowley, did you—” He grimaced as he ran a hand over the page and realized it was wet. “Did you _chew_ on this?” he asked, appalled.

“Did I _what?”_ Crowley asked, standing up and shooting across the room. He snatched the book from Aziraphale’s hands. Then he went very still. Aziraphale waited for him to protest.

“Uh, yes,” Crowley said firmly, snapping the book shut and handing it over. “Yes, I did. I chewed on your book.”

Then he turned and disappeared up the stairs. He didn’t come back. 

Aziraphale didn’t bring it up again for two days. Crowley’s behaviour changed drastically after the book incident, avoiding Aziraphale and spending more time outside the bookshop than in it. Aziraphale also never actually saw him leave or enter the shop; he always did so when the angel wasn’t looking.

Aziraphale finally convinced him to go for dinner at a nice Thai restaurant, determined to get some information out of him.

Crowley put his nose in his menu, which was highly unusual, since he usually let Aziraphale order for him. 

“I hear the pad thai here is quite divine,” said Aziraphale, as he smoothed his napkin over his lap, side-eyeing Crowley. “It’s no book of prophecies, but you might like it.”

The menu fell to the table with a resounding clatter. “Leave it alone, angel.”

“I just can’t have you around the shop if you’re going to be snacking on the merchandise.”

Crowley made a sound that resembled a hiss and sank into his chair. He refused to speak for the rest of the meal.

A week later, Aziraphale decided he needed to get some air. The flat had become very tense, as Crowley was currently giving him the silent treatment and refusing to spend more than five minutes with him. When he left, Crowley had been watering his plants, muttering profanities at his golden pothos. 

When Aziraphale came back from his brisk walk around the neighbourhood, however, Crowley still talking aloud. The angel paused on the steps up to the flat, listening. 

“You’re going to have to stop doing that in the flat. I can’t miracle away the smell,” the demon was saying. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m doing the best I can.”

Aziraphale had assumed he was still talking to his plants, but this sounded very different. Softer.

“If he finds out you tore a page from his copy of _The Canterbury Tales_ , it’ll be both our arses on the street.”

Aziraphale gasped and stormed up the rest of the stairs, throwing the door open. He was expecting a human, at the very least. He was shocked to see Crowley cross-legged in the middle of the floor, cuddling a rottweiler puppy.

Crowley’s snake eyes went wide, mouth agape as he stared at Aziraphale in the doorway. “Er…” He glanced around, as if looking for an escape route. “I can explain.”

“You brought a _dog_ into the flat?” 

The puppy hopped off Crowley’s lap and ran to Aziraphale, dancing around his feet, yapping excitedly. 

“Aw, he likes you,” said Crowley, grinning. When he saw Aziraphale’s stern look, the smile fell away. “Well, sorry! I was trying to find the right time to tell you.”

“The right time would’ve been when I’d asked you if you’d _eaten my book_.” Aziraphale scowled as the puppy ran back to Crowley. Crowley cooed and scratched behind its ears. The dog flopped onto the ground, rolling onto its back for a belly rub. “How on Earth did it get here?”

“I… well, I sort of… found him on the street,” said Crowley, avoiding his eyes. 

“You _what?”_

“It was raining! He had no owner, I couldn’t just leave him out there.” Crowley picked up the puppy and stood, bouncing it like a baby as he walked over to Aziraphale. “Look at him, angel. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“No, but he would hurt my books.”

“We’re, uh, working on that. And he peed on your carpet. Sorry.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t know, Crowley, a puppy is an awful lot of responsibility.”

“We’ll take good care of him. Won’t we, boy?” said Crowley, as the puppy began to lick his face. Aziraphale had never seen Crowley coo at anything before, but the way he looked at the dog would have made a human’s teeth rot.

And then Crowley looked at Aziraphale, and the softness of his smile made the angel give in.

“Alright, you can keep him,” he sighed, and Crowley beamed. “But _only_ if you train him not to eat my books or pee on my carpet!”

“Yes, yes,” said Crowley, just as the puppy began to struggle. He put it down, and it began running in circles, chasing its tail. Crowley came to stand beside Aziraphale, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the dog. 

“Aren’t rottweilers supposed to be dangerous?” said Aziraphale warily.

“Eh,” Crowley said noncommittally. “Bad reputation, I suspect. Then again, demons have a bad rep too, so maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it’s—”

“If you’re about to say ineffable—”

“Hey,” Crowley said sharply, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Angel, that’s my line.” Then he snapped his fingers. “That’s it! We’ll call him Effie.”

“I believe that is traditionally a woman’s name.”

“Yeah, well, humans got gender wrong anyway,” said Crowley. “He’s a dog, Aziraphale, he doesn’t know the concepts of masculinity and femininity. Do you, Effie?”

Effie yapped loudly and then promptly began chewing on Crowley’s shoelace.

Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head. He couldn’t begin to imagine what the reaction from Heaven would be if they found out he and a demon had adopted a dog. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but he had to admit that Effie was cute.

And it made Crowley happy, so he supposed he would get used to it.


	2. don't you forget about me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Crowley!” he called, as he clambered down the ladder and picked up the sunglasses. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little thing that is 100% fluff.
> 
> Thanks Samantha for reading it over for me 💖

They weren’t, strictly speaking, employed.

Heaven and Hell had kept their distance. Aziraphale was delighted by this, as it meant he was able to perform as many blessings and miracles as he liked. Crowley was more inclined to continue causing mischief, but he promised Aziraphale he’d make sure nobody got seriously hurt. 

Whenever he got a bit restless from hanging around the bookshop, he would announce he was “going out”, which was Crowley-speak for “messing with people for my own amusement”.

He called this over his shoulder as Aziraphale was reshelving some books that, he suspected, Crowley had taken down in the night in order to give the angel something to do in the morning (Aziraphale didn’t mind. It was rather sweet that Crowley didn’t want him to be bored).

It was a rainy day, perfect weather for a demon to cause some trouble. Unfortunate pedestrians being splashed by a bus, for example. Umbrellas breaking and going inside out. Tripping and falling into puddles. That sort of thing.

He was nearly out the door when Aziraphale noticed he’d left his sunglasses on one of the tables. “Crowley!” he called, as he clambered down the ladder and picked up the sunglasses. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Crowley never left the shop without his sunglasses, but he had a habit of leaving them around when there were no customers. He wasn’t self-conscious about his eyes anymore, and Aziraphale rather liked looking at them. He hadn’t yet accidentally left without them, but there was a first time for everything.

Crowley turned on his heel. “Am I?” he said, as they locked eyes. “Oh. Right.” 

They met each other halfway, meeting in the centre of the shop, and Aziraphale began to offer the sunglasses. But Crowley didn’t even notice what was in his hand. Instead, he took hold of Aziraphale’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed him right on the lips. 

Aziraphale’s fingers clamped around the glasses, and he let out a small noise of surprise before reciprocating, leaning into Crowley, his eyes fluttering closed.

And then Crowley was pulling away, much too soon. “There. All better?” he said, as easily as if remarking on the weather.

“Er, well—That was nice, but I, I meant these.” 

Aziraphale unfurled his fingers, holding out the glasses in his palm. Crowley looked down. “Oh,” he said, and had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

Aziraphale placed the glasses on Crowley’s face. “There we go, then.”

Crowley hummed and moved the glasses up to rest in his hair, and then looped his arms over Aziraphale’s shoulders. “On second thought, maybe I ought to stay in today.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”


	3. the sun's in my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley takes up a new hobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the song "Singin' in the Rain." I don't know where this came from, really, it just popped into my head. Just fluff without plot, really.

When Crowley brought a television into the flat, Aziraphale didn’t complain. He wasn’t even bothered when he got into a decorating kick and got rid of the tartan bed sheets and throw pillows. He was only slightly put off by the sudden appearance of those expensive coffee makers with environmentally unfriendly pods.

Crowley was getting antsy, Aziraphale realized, after he’d spent the better part of a day drawing up blueprints for a way to miracle a garage somewhere under the building for his Bentley. With the apocalypse diverted and an unknown amount of time before the Big One, Crowley had fallen out of the practice of causing more mischief than was necessary. He spent most of his time in the bookshop or the flat, and was trying out increasingly disturbing hobbies. 

Video games kept him occupied for a few weeks, until he’d gotten so good at them that they no longer interested him. Aziraphale didn’t mind the guitar phase, at least until Crowley decided acoustic guitar was boring and upgraded to an electric. One Saturday morning, Aziraphale got out of the shower (he often liked to take showers, even when he didn’t need one, as it was one of his favourite human inventions) to see Crowley doing hot yoga in the lounge room.

Aziraphale knew he’d truly lost it when he began _quilting._

It was the most un-Crowley thing to do. Quilting was soft and domestic; Crowley was sharp and prickly. Quilts suddenly began popping up all over the flat; one slung over the armchair, one hanging on the wall in the bookshop, a large one folded at the foot of the bed. 

After a few days, Aziraphale was starting to hope Crowley would get bored of quilting soon. He’d already made enough to cover nearly every surface. 

As much as Aziraphale had protested to the television at first, he had actually come to enjoy curling up on the couch at the end of a long day with a cup of tea and watching old movies. He hadn’t quite worked his way up to contemporary films (or any films from the past fifty years, really), but he was currently enjoying _Singin’ in the Rain_ with their dog at his feet. 

It had taken some getting used to, having a pet, but Aziraphale warmed up to Effie quite nicely. He still wouldn’t let the dog up on the couch, though; he’d been very clear about that. Crowley had fashioned him a dog bed made of several quilts, instead.

In the background, Aziraphale heard Crowley’s sewing machine working rapidly. He’d been at it all day. Aziraphale had tried to see what he was working on, but Crowley had very firmly told him to go away, and then shut the door of what had become his craft room. 

Aziraphale hummed along to the film’s music, smiling to himself. He had seen this one before, and the music was good. He rather enjoyed musicals (as long as it wasn’t _The Sound of Music)._

He was so engrossed in the film that he didn’t hear the sewing machine shut off, or Crowley’s footsteps coming up behind the couch. 

He startled when a blanket was draped over him suddenly. Aziraphale lifted his cup of tea in self-defence, miracling it steady as the liquid sloshed around.

“Crowley!” he exclaimed, scowling as the demon vaulted over the back of the couch to join him. “You’re lucky I have quick reflexes or my tea would’ve spilled all over the—” He stopped short of finishing his sentence when he saw [the blanket.](https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hw68GobJ4Z8/WsUSXhD3n9I/AAAAAAAAkPA/tQhi0YZXImc-Mxrj6Ozq_0XoNrJkUuqIwCLcBGAs/s640/jolly%2Btartan%2Bplaid%2Bquilt%2Bedge%2Bto%2Bedge%2Bmachine%2Bquilting%2Bby%2Bnatalia%2Bbonner%2Bof%2Bpiece%2Bn%2Bquilt.jpg)

It was one of Crowley’s quilts, but it was unlike the others he’d done before. The different fabrics had been arranged to mimic the tartan pattern that Aziraphale favoured so much. 

“This is what you’ve been working on?” he asked, setting his mug aside so he could smooth both hands across the blanket, admiring Crowley’s handiwork with a touch of awe. 

“Yep,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p’ dramatically. He kept his eyes on the screen, settling in next to Aziraphale under the blanket, pressed into the angel’s side. He didn’t even like _Singin’ in the Rain._

“For me?” 

“No, for Effie,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes. The dog perked up at his name, and Crowley patted the blanket. “Here, boy.”

“Crowley, not on the—”

The dog hopped up onto the couch and curled up on Crowley’s lap. 

“—Couch,” Aziraphale finished, sighing. 

“He’s not on the couch, he’s on the blanket,” said Crowley. _“Ugh,_ this is _boring,_ can’t we watch something more my speed? Oh, there’s a thought. _Speed,_ now _that’s_ a good film.”

“I’m halfway through this one,” said Aziraphale. “And you know that film stresses me out, with driving a public bus that quickly, it’s not safe at all.”

“Alright, alright. We’ll finish this, but I pick the next one, yeah?” 

“Fine. As long as it was made before nineteen-seventy.”

Crowley grumbled his agreement and slumped further against Aziraphale, his head now on the angel’s shoulder. After a moment, he said, very quietly, “Do you like it?”

Aziraphale smiled softly and toyed with the hem of the quilt. “Yes, my dear, I very much do.”

“Good. Now I can move onto something more exciting.”

After the movie was done, and it was Crowley’s time to choose, Aziraphale didn’t even complain when he picked _Psycho._ He just snuggled into his new blanket, kissed Crowley’s temple, and gave Effie a scratch behind the ears. 

When the credits began to roll, Crowley sat up, and smiled.

“Do you have any objections to me learning taxidermy?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are like little miracles.
> 
> If you’d like to say hi:
> 
> My tumblr is [dukecabooms.](http://dukecabooms.tumblr.com/)  
> My twitter is [anthonyjcrowIey.](https://twitter.com/anthonyjcrowIey)


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